


Other Suns

by Lyncias



Series: Mission Song [2]
Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, It's 3 in the morning, Sci-Fi AU, and I have no idea what I just wrote, weird ass sci fi au strikes again lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 02:25:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12289221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyncias/pseuds/Lyncias
Summary: Makoto knew he was dead the moment the man walked into the lab and announced that all engineers are to become temporary soldiers





	Other Suns

**Author's Note:**

> Weird sci-fi AU strikes again! Technically set in the same world as "King and Lionheart" but you can barely spot the similarities lol
> 
> Possible (likely) OOC and typos so please bear with me :)!
> 
> Thank you for clicking and I hope you enjoy!!

Makoto Yuuki first moved to Bunk 107 because too many people had died in the last raid. He was never supposed to be a fighter. He had joined the rebellion because he believed that they were in need of technology experts, and he was right. As soon as his recruiters found out he knew how to rewire Republic robots, they did not even bother to train him. They moved him straight to the tech department, a short hallway with three rooms in the east wing of the base. He worked in one of the three rooms and slept in another along with almost thirty others that were responsible for rewiring robots and fixing guns and inventing new machines that could eliminate more than three soldiers at a time. They were already behind—the Republic could kill five of theirs at a time with their new robots.

So imagine his, and his fellow engineers’, surprise when a man, dressed in sweat- and bloodstained uniform, came into the engineer dormitory and told them that they would no longer serve their full purpose under the technology department.

“What do you mean, sir?” one of them asked. “Are you firing us?”

“Consider it a transfer,” the man said, " _soldier._ ”

“Soldier? You can’t be serious,” another called, incredulous. “We’re here to create, sir, we aren’t fighters. We know how to fix guns, sure, but half of us have never fired one.”

“Make that all of us,” another said gloomily.

The man shook his head. “Desperate times calls for desperate measures,” he said. “Our recent clashes with the Republic hadn’t ended so well. We’ve lost too many men. We need as many fighters as we can get.”

“But surely having engineers working on creating more efficient weapons are equally as important?” a woman with short, brown hair asked. “Sir,” she added carefully, remembering the rules.

“It’s only temporary,” the man said. “Until we get more recruits. Our men are out right now trying to find more people. You will be released from your fighting duties as soon as we get recruits. Maybe you’ll get lucky and we won’t see another clash for days.”

“But sir—”

“Pack up your things and gather in the cafeteria in ten,” the man said curtly. “No late arrival allowed.” He turned and left the room, leaving the room in stunned and frightened silence. As he walked out of the lab, Makoto heard his colleagues buzzing with anxiousness and fear. He, too, was terrified. Fighting? Out there? Actually holding a gun and killing people? Those were supposed to be distant, the faint rumbling of the base when they were hiding in the deepest level with the children and elderly. It was supposed to the something far, far away, and they were promised that they would be kept safe from it all. None of them knew how to hold guns, and none of them had ever killed before.

 _Most of them,_ Makoto corrected himself in his mind. _Stop running from your past._

 _No,_ another part of his mind cried, _no. I deny it. I deny that past._

Makoto shook his head and forced himself to move his mind away from what had happened way before he came to the rebellion. He turned to his colleagues and joined his voice of doubt to theirs. When they packed, they did not pack quietly. The entire dormitory was alive with the sound of sighs and dragged footstep and occasional curses.

Makoto didn’t have a lot of belongings, and neither did the other engineers. He had a small backpack, two clean shirts, one pair of clean pants, and a pair of sturdy shoes. Like most people, he joined the rebellion because he didn’t have much left. The Republic had taken almost everything he had.

As they lined in the cafeteria, the third room in the short hallway, Makoto glanced around the brightly lit room. There were about thirty people, dressed in their lab working clothes. They did not have the time to change. They were scared and ragged, not unlike the new recruits during their first week. None of them appeared ready to become soldiers. One of the majors glanced them and turned to whisper something to the woman next to him. They both snickered.

Makoto felt his body growing numb. _God,_ he thought. _What is going to happen to us? To me?_

This must be the thought of everyone in that room, judging from the whispers they were passing amongst themselves.

A man, stoic and leathery, stepped forward. He raised a hand, and the room silenced itself. He commanded a quiet authority could not be ignored.

“I am General Lionel,” the man spoke, his voice hard and cold. “And I will be assigning you to your new units.” The engineers muttered to each other in confusion and excitement. General Lionel was something closed to a legend in the base.

“You must have a lot of questions what about is going to happen to you. Myself and Lieutenant General Harris here,” he gestured to the woman who was standing next to him, “are going to be in charge of overlooking your training.

“What you’ve done for the rebellion is laudable, and I respect you for it. However, you must understand that with the shortage of soldier we are experiencing, we need every hand we can get. If we do not have enough soldiers, and trust me when I say we do not have enough, this base will fall.” He swept his gaze across the room. When his cold eyes looked Makoto, the latter felt a shiver running down his spine, and he felt himself standing up straighter, even though he knew the general wouldn’t see him. “You are our last resort.” He paused for a second to let his words sink in. The engineers turned to each other and whispered. “Report to the practice range tomorrow at six sharp,” the general said. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the engineers replied, but the response was uneven and sparse.

“Am I understood?” the general asked again, his voice harder this time.

“Yes, sir!” This time, the answer was clearer, louder. More like a group of soldiers and less like a group of terrified engineers.

The general nodded, seemingly satisfied with their response. He walked over to a nearby table, the majors followed. “Line up,” he called as majors sat down. “You will be assigned bunks right now, and that will be your home for until we find enough recruits.” _Or until you die in combat._ The last part was left unsaid but known like an absolute fact, hanging in the air, heavy like a damped towel draped over their faces.

The man that made a comment earlier assigned Makoto his bunk. “Bunk 107,” he said, handing him a piece of paper. “Serves as your identification before your tag comes in.” Makoto accepted it gingerly. It would be the only way of identifying his corpse should he get killed on the battlefield. Of course, that is if the rebels won the day or someone cared enough to drag him off of the fields and away from the Reapers roll in. “Next!” the man called. Makoto shuffled aside and looked at the piece of paper again. It had a crude map on it, indicating where his bunk would be.

He left the cafeteria, and as he walked to his new bunk, his legs were leaden and his small pack became heavier than it should have been, and he knew he was walking towards certain death.

There were three others already in Bunk 107. When Makoto arrived, they were all in the bunk, polishing their guns and chattering. One of them, the one with orange hair matted down with sweat, raised his gun and aimed at Makoto when he walked in. His movement one swift and fluid swoop and Makoto found himself facing a dark weapon. He jumped, raising his hand. _Shit shit shit shit._

The youth with dark black hair stood up and kicked the orange-haired one on the calf. “Put that thing down,” he said. The gun held still for a few more seconds and returned to its owner’s side. Makoto felt himself relaxing.

“You’re the new one, aren’t you?” the dark-haired youth asked. “The engineer they assigned?”

“Y-Yes,” Makoto said, slightly stumbling over his words. He found the piece of paper the major gave him. He handed to the young man. The young man took the paper in his hand and read it over. He still had his gun in his hand and it was pointing at Makoto. Makoto swallowed nervously. _I’m scared,_ he thought. _And the guns are just facing me. It probably isn’t even loaded. How am I supposed to fight?_

“Makoto Yuuki, is it?” the young man asked. “I’m Brigadier Hokuto Hidaka, and these are Colonel Subaru Akehoshi and Colonel Mao Isara.”

The youth with orange hair, the one that had pointed his gun at Makoto, grinned widely. Mao, the one with reddish purple hair, nodded. Then both returned to taking care of their weapons.

Hokuto turned back to Makoto. “The bunk over there is yours.” He jerked his thumb towards a bed in the left corner. It was less of a bed and more of a metal platform, raised off of the ground and looked like a large rock that jutted out of the smooth walls. The only thing on it was a thin rug, thrown over the platform with little care.

“Thanks,” Makoto said as he walked past Hokuto. He dropped his pack under the bed and dropped himself onto the bed. The hard surface made his back ache, but he was too exhausted to care. He closed his eyes, and the three others in the room did not bother him.

As he drifted off to sleep, he heard one of his three bunkmates—he wasn’t sure which. He hadn’t known them long enough to be able to tell them apart by their voices. It might have even been a figment of his imagination, his overactive, racing mind—whisper to another, “how are we going to keep him alive?”

 _Good question,_ he thought. _How am I supposed to keep myself alive?_

—

Makoto ate his dinner halfheartedly, his body still aching from his training. Mao dropped his plate down across from him. There was no one else at the table. There was no one else in the cafeteria, only the former engineers, exhausted but hardened by a few weeks of training. There were less of them now, thanks to a surprised raid a few days back. Makoto’s only friend in that department was shot through the chest. Thankfully, the raid was a small one, and it was almost over by the time Makoto and his team was sent out onto the field.

“You’re eating late,” he said as Mao plopped down in the seat across from him.

“So are you.”

“I had training,” Makoto said, twirling the noodle in his plate with his fork. Mao shrugged.

“I assumed you didn’t want to eat alone.”

“So you waited for me?” Makoto asked, shocked. None of the other engineers had people shared meals with. Most people wouldn’t wait to eat for someone they had only known for a month.

“Well, I wasn’t hungry anyway,” Mao said. He stuffed a fork of noodles into his mouth and grinned. Makoto felt a lump in his throat, so he forced it down along with a mouthful of food.

“How’s the training going?” Mao asked.

“Fine,” Makoto shrugged. He didn’t like the training. It brought back from unpleasant memories. _The winter wind. The crunch of gravel under heavy combat boots. Gunshots. Dust that danced in the pale sunlight. Robotic blue eyes blinking. Shirts that was once white, stained red by the oozing blood._

 _Stop it,_ Makoto shook his head.

“Hey,” Mao said, “here, let me tell you. When you’re here, it’s best not to think about it. Whatever happened happened. Don’t let it hinder you. Whatever happened, you can’t think about it too much. People think about it too much, and they let it consume them. Not a second goes by where they don’t think about it. Those are the ones that die first.” His voice trailed off. He paused, as if he was waiting for the words to sink in and for Makoto’s response. “We all have demons. All of us. We won’t be here if we did not.”

Makoto nodded. “Thanks,” he said, “for that advice. I will keep it in mind.”

Mao grinned widely and reached over to clasp Makoto on the shoulder. Then he sat back down and finished his meal. Afterwards the two walked back to their bunk together without a word. Subaru and Hokuto were still out. They didn’t anything to each other again that night. As he climbed into bed, Makoto turned to look at Mao, who was sitting up against the wall, his face illuminated by a small square of light made by his communicator. Makoto thought he looked inexplicably sad. He remembered Mao’s words.

 _We all have demons,_ he had said. _We won’t be here if we did not._ Makoto wondered what kind of demons a man like Mao could be hiding. He wondered how Mao could hold a gun on the battlefield and still smile so freely. He wondered if he could somehow manage that.

—

The first time he really held a gun against an enemy, Makoto was paralyzed with fear.

They had been deployed to a nearby Republic-held town, where rebellion informer that sent words that the Republic would be cleansing next.

Makoto sat in the lifter cabin next to his bunkmates, all three of whom were cleaning and checking their weapons for one last time. There were others in the cabin as well, but Makoto barely knew them. Like his bunkmates, they were giving their weapons a final checkup, lest it malfunctions when they were facing Republic soldiers. Makoto had checked it once that morning, and as he sat there, he couldn’t bring himself to check it again. Checking it, like his bunkmates were, would confirm his fear. It would force him to confront that fact that, yes, he was on a lifter to go to a war zone. Yes, he would soon hold that gun and kill.

“You should check that,” Hokuto said. Makoto looked up at the man sitting across from him. His eyes were two blue lights. In a way, they reminded Makoto of the eyes of the Reapers.

“I will,” he said through clenched teeth. “In a bit.”

Hokuto’s face was obscured by the darkness of the lifter. He stood up and sat down next to Makoto, then he reached over and gently took the gun from him. “It’s hard,” he said, “I should know.” He paused as he checked all the buttons on the gun. “My first time, my mentor had to drag me off of the lifter. I was that nervous.” He raised the gun to his eyes and checked the aimer. “It’s only natural. When you’re on the field, though, I have only one advice for you. My mentor gave me that advice before my first real battle. Kept me alive until now.” He checked to make sure the gun was fully charged. He looked up and his clear, blue eyes met Makoto’s. “Don’t let yourself fall.” The lifter landed and the cabin shook as the machine made contact with the ground. The door to their cabin slid open, and the sound of clattering and anxious buzzing reached the previous silent room.

Hokuto stood up and clapped. “Everyone, up and moving!” he commanded. The men in the cabin stood up, their boots clanging against the floor. They shuffled out of the cabin and joined a stream of rebel soldiers as they headed to a bright dot that was the exit of the lifter. Headed to their deaths.

Hokuto grabbed Makoto as they made their way outside and into the hiding spots. “Do not forget your training,” he said. “Don’t forget the plan.” Makoto nodded nervously. Above him, the sun shone through thick, grey clouds. “Good man,” Hokuto smiled and patted Makoto on the back. “Stay alive. I will see you after, soldier.” Then he stood and joined a group of squad commanders, whispering to each other things Makoto could not hear.

—

The sound of the explosion was louder than Makoto would ever fathom. One moment he was charging with his team, and the next a wall of heat slammed into him, throwing him backward. The sound came a second later, and it almost shattered his eardrums.

He landed on the ground, breathless, his mouth tasting like metal. The air around him smelled like metal. It did not take him long to recognize the familiar scent of blood, even though his vision was swimming and his mind was clouded.

Sounds returned to him a few moments later, when another explosion detonated to his left. The loud sound and agonizing screams shook Makoto out of his trance. He scrambled off of the ground and, ignoring the pain from his body, dashed towards the nearest safe spot. He jumped into the bush along with half a dozen soldiers and looked up in time to see that where they had been lying that turned to scorched earth by another explosion.

Makoto sat on the cold earth that was still untouched by the battle, his entire body shaking. That was so close. If he had been a few steps ahead, he would be part of that scorched earth.

The soldiers did not take long to recover themselves. A few minutes later, after they checked the functionality of their weapons, most joined the fight. Most were limping, but they did not seem to mind. Makoto watched them disappeared into the grey dust, and after a moment pulled himself up, as well.

The scent of burned flesh and blood filled his nostrils. He remembered that day again, the winter wind, the crunching gravel, the bloody shirts.

 _You must come to term with it,_ he thought. _Don’t think about it too much. Don’t dwell on it. Everyone here has demons. Don't dwell on it. Don't let it distract you._

A stray shot struck the ground beneath Makoto’s feet and made him jump. He took a few steps back, but still found himself face to face with a soldier wearing a dark blue uniform. Rebellion soldiers didn’t wear uniforms. They had other forms of identification that this man did not have. What he had was a gun and corpses left behind. Makoto raised his gun in horror, training fleeing from his mind, and fired. The shot hit the man’s shoulder, causing to drop his gun with a grunt. Blinded and paralyzed by fear, Makoto’s stiff fingers pulled the trigger again. He hit the man’s chest this time. The man fell still.

It was the first time he had killed anyone. Makoto saw more Republic soldiers heading his way. He did not have time to think. He took a few steps back and dashed towards his left.

A shot grazed his leg, then another his back. Another soon followed and took him on the shoulder. He stumbled to the ground. Pain flared up, and tear threatened to fall. Makoto clenched his teeth as he dragged himself farther from the Republic soldiers, his body leaving a long, bloody mark on the ground. Hokuto said don’t fall, but that’s easy to say when you’re not shot.

No one had ever told him about the pain. Makoto thought he had experienced pain, but all those felt like lying on a feather bed compared to this. He grunted as he turned and fired at the approaching soldiers. He missed, of course. He could barely aim with two hands, and it was an almost impossible task now that he was injured.

A figure with bright, orange hair dashed towards him, firing at the soldiers. Makoto heard the soldiers’ grunts and cries of pain and surprise when their friends fell. One tried to run, but a bullet took him before he could make it to safety. Subaru appeared out of grey dust, and although blood was dripping down his dusty face and his hair was matted with sweat and blood, he appeared as radiant as a god Makoto had read about in a forbidden child’s book.

“Get up!” Subaru said as he fended off more soldiers. He cleared the men around them, then bent down and grabbed Makoto’s arm, pulling him to his feet. “Up, up. You can’t fall down, remember? You can’t.” He fired a few more rounds at the soldiers.

“Can you still walk?” he asked as he pulled back, taking Makoto with him.

“Barely,” Makoto said.

“Good,” Subaru said. “Gun?” Makoto waved the weapon. “Good. Good. Means you can still fight.” He stopped as the two were surrounded by a group of soldiers. The two sides stared at each other, a tense moment of peace. Makoto stood with his back against Subaru’s back, supporting himself with the young man. He held up his gun, and even though the pain in his shoulder was almost unbearable, he still held his position. “Count of three,” Subaru said. “One, two…” He fired. Makoto joined a second later. They took the soldiers by surprise, and by the time their brains processed this information, half of them was already dead. Subaru had a terrifyingly good aim. Three out of five of Makoto’s shots missed. But that meant that two of his shots still landed.

Somehow, they lived. Makoto collapsed to the ground with three new injuries, panting. He felt bone tired, and he wanted to just lie down and sleep. “No!” Subaru bellowed as he dragged Makoto up. “No, don’t sleep. Get up! Don’t let yourself fall!”

They were close to the rebellion line. Makoto looked around as he stumbled behind Subaru, tripping over corpses. Some of them wore dark blue uniforms, some had a red flower clipped on their shirt. As Subaru carried Makoto into medical tent, Makoto was barely conscious. The nurses immediately began working on him. When he was wheeled deeper into the tent, he heard Subaru talking with Hokuto and Mao.

“…has fallen…” Hokuto said. “Bad… may have to retreat.” Makoto felt a pang of defeat, but by then darkness had caught up to him, and he slipped away.

—

Makoto woke up to learn that they had lost the day, but the Republic had retreated. The town was the rebel's. He was still in the medical tent, but he felt better. His wounds still stung, but no more blinding pain.

He climbed out of bed and made for the door. He could still walk, and no one stopped him. They were too busy.

He made it outside and found himself confronted by a grey, desolated landscape. Stones jutted out of the ground, bodies strewn over the ruins. The Reapers did not come in, and the grey dust hangs in the air. There was a low buzzing all around, the sound of people dying, of people wailing. He walked towards the town, limping. It was a long way to the town, but no one stopped him. He wanted to stop, but he did not.

It was a small town, small enough for him to hear the sound of waves crashing against the shore as soon as he approached it. The salty wind of ocean swept away the scent of metal in the air.

Makoto found his bunkmates, along with almost hundred other men and women, standing on the beach. They were silent, most sitting and staring. Makoto joined his bunkmates, settling down next to Hokuto. Subaru handed him a small flask and Mao smiled at him. Makoto smiled, looking at all three of them, and downed everything in the flask.

The content of the flask burned all the way down.

—

“Soldier,” a man entered their bunk one night a week after the raid. Makoto was playing cards with Subaru. The man looked at Makoto. “The recruitment standard has been met. There is no need for engineers to serve as soldiers anymore. You may return to your former post if you wish.”

Makoto froze. It was everything he had wanted in the first week of being a soldier. He had been looking forward to returning to his post as an engineer for as long as he had been a soldier, right?

He looked at his bunkmates. Subaru smiled widely and patted him on the back. “You did good here,” he said. “Glad we had you, soldier.”

Mao nodded. “You’ve been good,” he said. “I wish you the best of luck after you return to your old post.”

Hokuto did not say anything. Instead, he placed a hand on Makoto’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Actually,” Makoto said slowly, turning to the man by the door. “I wish to remain here, if that is alright. I wish to remain here, as a soldier.”

The man nodded. “Respect to you, soldier,” he said, then turned around and left. Makoto watched the man leave, then turned back to staring at his cards again. He put a card down and smiled at Subaru. “It’s your turn,” he said to his stunned bunkmate.

“Yes, yes,” Subaru said after a few seconds. His smile when he put down his card was as warm as the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> I have an idea and kind of started working on a super long fic (which is ambitious af and I honestly think I bite off more than I can chew lol). It's set in a sorta fantasy world and is told from Anzu's granddaughter's POV. Would people be interested to read it when (if) I finish it? Just curious. Also I think if people want to read it I may be more motivated to finish the story. If not I have other stuff I'm writing right now :)


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